White Shadow
by Nemesis dan Impyrean
Summary: He doesn't know who he is. He doesn't know why he is in a broken-down village with people who die left and right. He doesn't remember a time before his world split into Inside and Outside. He is a wolf, while the only other is a fox. When a predator enters the Inside, he fights him tooth and claw, and he will not lose. (first chapter explained on second chapter)
1. Inside and Outside

He eyed the intruder with the gaze of a wolf, his teeth bared not in a smile but in warning. The blade in his hand felt light and insufficient compared to the intruder's armor. The metal plating shone in a place where nothing was clean, standing out far too much.

The intruder took off his helmet, revealing a young man's face. He, too, was far too clean. His hair was colorful, though black as the roots, while the young man's eyes were a vivid red.

Healthy. Strong. Confident. Not traits forged by living in this place.

He gripped his shoddy knife tighter, still smiling his wolf's smile. The stranger had been foolish enough to take off his helmet. As the young man stepped through the dust and wreckage of buildings long rotted away, he waited, planning to attack once he got close enough.

The young man spoke. "Yugi?" he questioned, walking closer. Just a few more steps. He watched as the armored foot came down on a piece of broken wood, making him lose his balance for a second -

He drove his knife towards the man's face. When the stranger automatically caught it, he darted around his body. Usually, he would have taken him down, but he had enough sense to stay far from danger. Not prey, but a predator, searching for something.

The depths of his home welcomed him as he ran through, bare feet kicking up dust but not making a sound. The intruder did not know the place and could not pursue him. He flashed by hungry eyes, gaunt faces, empty hands.

His hands were empty, now.

He would have to get another knife.

* * *

Scratching, snapping, biting, he fought another for the blade that kept cutting close to his neck. That could not happen, but he could not walk away. He needed that knife badly - without a weapon, he would be a wolf without claws.

He redoubled his efforts, jabbing his fingers at the other boy's eyes, finally kneeing him in the groin.

When the boy keeled over, he grabbed the knife and jammed it into the other's ribs, satisfied at the shout of pain the boy gave. The knife was bloody now, but he didn't care. He ran, slipping through the shadows of broken rafters and empty doorways.

He was hungry now, always was, but the pain was growing into something that gnawed on his stomach, pushing bile up into his throat. The hunger was a little too much. He couldn't have that. With a short growl of complaint, he turned, starting on a path to the Outside.

It was actually very nice out there. Outside, there were no people. But there were wolves, and other things. He shuddered briefly at the thought of the other things, but they only came out at night.

With sunlight coming through the trees, he was in no danger yet. He smelled the wind, smelling water - the river, too far from Inside to be sullied - and warmth of green. Then a howl shot through the air, urging him to turn, to take part in the hunt.

He clambered up a tree, only to leap off giddily from the branches, his two legs hitting the ground hard. Grass made it softer than Inside, with all that hard-packed dirt and splintered wood. Soon he was joined by a flow of furry bodies that he pushed himself to keep pace with.

The panting of wolves, the thud of their paws, wove around him until he adopted their loping manner. They accepted his presence and dismissed it, for the pack had long made him one of their own.

Otherwise, he would have long been dead.

The flickers of movement - a twitch of an ear, the wrinkling of a muzzle - warned him. As the wolves swiftly parted, soundlessly running to their different positions, he followed. His packmates acknowledged him with soft growls that cut off as they drew close.

He could not smell them, but he heard them. Settling in wait behind some bushes, he listened to the sound of chewing. A hoofbeat. They were probably planning to flush out the deer, which meant his group was the one intended to make a kill.

Soon he heard barking, noisy rustling, and soon a young fawn burst through the bushes. She leapt directly over them, only to be interrupted as one wolf jumped upwards, nipping at her soft belly.

She landed awkwardly and off-balance, bleating in fear.

He attacked with his packmates, aiming for her legs. She kicked back before trying to run forward, but a wolf appeared before her, growling fiercely. They bit her legs, knocking her over. He slashed at her throat, causing her to buck once. Then she fell still.

A savage bark of victory erupted from him, his packmates joining in. They pulled at the corpse, dragging it. They took it to the Hollow, a place where the wolves rested. It was their territory, their home. There was a small den for pups and mothers, as well as stone that gave them some boundaries.

Other groups took their kills to the middle. The alpha approached, sniffing them all. He waited with the others until the alpha had eaten his fill. Then he and the hunters came forward, tearing away at the meat and bones.

In this pack, he was respected.

Once he was brought in as a pup, the lowest of the low.

He had not tolerated that for long. The wolf pack would not have tolerated him had he remained useless, so he quickly got stronger, faster. In the end he had become a hunter.

As he stepped back, his belly full and his mouth smeared with blood, he was -

Happy?

Content?

At least he had food in him. He backed up, then walked away. Packs demanded loyalty, and he had little to spare. Still, he was useful. He brought back food. He answered their howls, their calls. He was strong. So he was part of the pack, despite not being truly of the pack.

One looked up as he left, yipping once in confusion, but returned to eating. That one had been new. He hadn't remembered seeing that one before, but there had been a litter recently.

A litter of four.

He remembered seeing two others he hadn't remembered. They'd grown quick. But the fourth was missing. He knew what happened to the weak pups, the one born wrong. Or, though unlikely, perhaps one of the other things had gotten the pup.

At the thought of the other things, he made his way back. Inside was safer at night, though Outside was freedom, power. As he stepped back into the Inside, he felt his shoulders tense.

Eyes watched from walls and ears were pressed to the ground.

He did not know where he had heard the phrase, but it certainly applied in this place. Treading lightly, he ran through the wreckages. Houses and mansions were just broken wood, lone walls standing apart from each other. It was almost like a maze, this world that made up the Inside.

There was another like him in the shadow of a wall. A sepia shadow, to match the light of the afternoon sun. One with white hair. If he was a wolf, this one was a fox.

The fox looked up at him with envy. He felt the stiff skin of his hands and face, still covered in dry blood. It made others cower, but this one was clever. The fox knew he left the Inside, knew that the blood meant he'd eaten. Knew that eating meant he was strong.

He would have to watch out for this one. But he stuffed his hand in his shirt and drew out the leg he'd kept, tossing it to the other. The fox fell upon it with ravenous hunger.

He would have to be careful. But seeing this one be full for the first time in weeks - or days, he wouldn't know - made him feel better.

A weakness.

The fox took advantage of it, too. That one's eyes looked up at him, the glint of cunning visible. Then the fox stopped eating. It probably couldn't eat anymore without being sick.

He made as if to grab it, but the fox snatched it away. Without a second glance, the fox darted into the shadows. That one vanished too quickly. He shrugged, turning to continue on. He had no place he truly rested. Not Inside. Too many made the mistake of settling in one corner for too long.

Often, they were gone. Permanently. Nowhere Inside and nowhere Outside. No one but him went Outside, so they had to eat something.

In the times when he had time enough to wonder, he wondered when there would be no one left Inside but him.

He found a corner. The floor was still there, a crumbling thing that would give away at a careless touch. He wiggled underneath, feeling the warmth on the dirt, the stifled heat that came from closed spaces. He dug at the ground, making it softer.

It was growing dark. The shadows were lengthening, the ground cooling. He hoped the other things never found their way Inside. He covered himself in dirt, falling asleep quickly.

And found himself dreaming.

He knew it was a dream. Because he was somewhere he hadn't been before, and he felt weak. Small.

He was never weak. Not anymore.

And things were soft.

He felt complacent, lying down on something too colorful, too soft, like the clouds colored orange by the sunset. Only these things were in all colors, even ones he'd scarcely seen.

What was this?

What were these?

Red eyes loomed above him, giving him the sense he was being spoken to. But he couldn't hear anything. He tried to growl at the person above him.

His mouth moved, but sounds wouldn't come out. Panicking, he tried again, but the gentle, slurred rumbling in his throat tore him out of sleep. His eyes flew open to darkness. He clawed his way out of the dirt, punching through the useless floorboards.

He needed air.

He needed -

"Yugi! Thank the gods I finally found you."

The voice cut through his whirling confusion. He turned slowly, his whole countenance still. The intruder from earlier. He smiled his wolf's smile. What he needed was a fight. And this stranger would be the one to give it to him, because he did not have the sense to stay away.

He drew his knife, pointing it at the stranger. The predator paused, which he thought was funny. Was it was strange for a wolf to bare it's fangs before attacking?

He waited, though. A good wolf watched and waited. When the predator continued to advance, not bothering to pull out the sword at his side, he realized that this was no predator. Just an intruder. "Yugi," the stranger said, but he did not respond. He was angry.

So he pounced, knife flashing through the darkness. It glanced off the stranger's armor, but he scratched the stranger's cheek. Blood poured from it, and he remembered the blood on his own hands.

He leapt behind the stranger, relieved when he drew his sword.

Because even prey fought back, if only to run. If this one did not react to wounds, he would make sure to stay far away in the future. Perhaps run immediately. Only the other things felt no pain.

But no, the blade flashed overhead. He hit the ground and rolled, his knife hitting the stranger's gloves with a metallic ting. He hated the armor. He was used to fighting with flesh to sink his blade into, while avoiding the same thing happening to him.

The sword flashed down quickly, almost too fast for him to follow. He leapt away, disconcerted. This one was fast. This one actually was a predator. Yet he was slow to attack.

He noticed the helmet was back in place but - there! A slit between the edge of the helm and the edge of his breastplate. He smiled. Shiny armor was like the scales of a lizard. Difficult to pierce, but there were always chinks. Always weak spots.

He stabbed at the predator's ribs, legs, trying to create a perfect opportunity. Even if he went for the spot immediately, this one was fast. He wasn't certain he would be able to strike quickly enough. If he struck too hastily, he would give his plan away.

So his knife consistently clanged against the predator's armor, seeking a chance.

Until suddenly the blades were pressed close to his face. "I know you, Yugi," the intruder said. "I know how you fight. Always looking for weaknesses." With one quick move, he twisted his knife away. It fell to the ground with a clatter.

He took a step back.

No claws.

He wasn't close enough to get to the knife.

No teeth.

A weak wolf had only one choice.

But he couldn't run. The sword was at his throat. He met the dark eye holes of the stranger's helm, face contorted in a silent snarl. Let him, then. He snapped at the intruder, but he did not flinch, not even a shiver.

"You've changed, Yugi," the predator said at last. "I guess… After all these years, it makes sense. I'm sorry."

Sorry. What did sorry mean? He did not know that word, but he guessed it was one the stranger was familiar with. He shifted his weight, but the sword stayed level with him, so he stilled once more. Wolf, wolf, wolf. What if he howled? Would his packmates hear him?

No. They would not forgive him weakness, and they avoided Inside as much as he avoided Outside at night. They would not come.

Wolf.

He was the wolf, and the other was a fox.

Where was the fox?

Something moved in his peripheral vision, but he didn't look away from the stranger. The stranger was saying more things, words that passed meaninglessly through his ears.

He licked his lips.

He tried to say something, but it had been so long. His voice was hoarse and weak.

The predator paused. "What did you say?"

"You…" He coughed, almost impaling himself on the sword. "You owe me. Please." His voice sounded so weak, so unlike the vicious barks and growls he'd grown accustomed to. Why speak in a place where you only kill or be killed? No one cared about each other.

The fox, however, certainly cared about himself enough for both of them.

And the fox did not hunt.

A flash of movement, then a bang. The predator grunted before collapsing, a large dent in the back of his helmet. A rock rolled out of the fox's hands as he brushed himself off.

"Well?" he asked, a lilt to his words. The fox smiled, white hair shining in the night. "Will you kill him?"

He shook his head. Words came slowly to him, for hostility and strength was all he'd needed to convey for so long. The fox was clever. He had clearly not lost his hold on speech. "No."

"Then what?"

He gripped his knife tighter. He sought the words he wanted, for the clever fox was no merciful saviour. "We go."

The fox's smile remained in place, but it turned sharp. A crescent moon waning to a line. "This place is small. This one is not a fool. How do you expect to run?" His voice was accusing, and the fox crossed his arms.

"We go Outside," he said.

The smile slipped away. Even the fox knew and feared the other things. "That's risky."

"So was this."

The fox smirked. "A calculated one." He sighed and kicked the intruder's body, eliciting a groan. "Fine. But if I die, I will curse you a thousand times."

Why curse in death when living was sure to be harder? But he didn't have a right to talk. He fought to live too. Without another word he took the lead, walking through the pathways of the Inside. When they approached the empty doorway, the only barrier between Inside and Outside, his step faltered.

"So hesitant?" the fox sneered.

No wolf would hesitate at the grasp of freedom. He had no way of knowing if he was strong enough to withstand the other things, but he knew he could not evade the intruder forever. Not without killing him.

He didn't know why he wouldn't kill him. He'd killed so many before.

"No," he said, coming to a stop. "I was wondering if you were having second thoughts."

"Second thoughts, yes. Thoughts of backing out, no. Don't worry about me."

Of course he would worry. Would the fox find a better hunter and turn tail? Or worse, bite him in his sleep? He shrugged of those concerns, for the other things were the immediate predator. He walked out into the night, into the Outside.

The fox followed him, of course.

The forest was not welcoming at night. It was a patchwork of black, grey, and black. Branches turned into claws, rustles became sinister whispers, and each step he took was a clamor of questions: Are the other things close? Is he walking into their trap?

He snarled, snapping at the air. The fox chuckled behind him, but he didn't care. It made him feel braver. He was a wolf. The other things were -

Right in front of him.

With a startled yip, the other things charged at him. He ducked low, sinking his knife into one of the other things. It's body was made of dead things, unnatural, the smell of rot and old blood. He gagged as he danced out of reach, the other thing toppling without a sound.

Elation shot through him. Dead! The other things could be defeated. He looked around, seeing the other things gathering around the fallen one. Lifting their heads, they made harsh, angry sounds at him.

He barked back at them. This was the language he understood, of hate and survival and anger. Then the illusion was ruined when the fox snapped at him, "Kill them already!"

Irritated, he turned. He knew the fox did not respect his growls, so he forced himself to say, "I was getting to that. You could always help." He turned back and threw himself into the battle. The fox said something back, but by then he was too busy fighting to listen.

When the last other thing lay still, he sought the stream. He didn't care for looks, but blood itched something terrible when it dried on his skin for too long. The old was flaking away, but the other things bled too.

As he washed, the fox commented, "I think I've set myself up with a lunatic. I'm hungry. Hunt for me."

"Hunt?" he asked, standing waist-deep in the water. It was cold and refreshing. "I hunt with the wolves. You will get food when we eat."

The fox rolled his eyes but didn't say anything further.

He washed himself off before trudging out, his rags clinging to his skin. It was too cold, but he did not mind. Instead, he looked around. The other things did not climb, so a night in the trees was safer than a night on the ground. Picking out a tree with thick branches, he started to climb.

"Where are you going?"

"To sleep."

"Where does that leave me?"

He glanced back to see the fox looking antsy. The fox would have preferred to stay Inside, he knew. It was easier that way. "I will not carry you," he said simply. "Will you come?"

"No," the fox said.

"The wolves howl when they hunt. I will howl when I have food. What is your name?"

A small smile touched the edges of the fox's face. It was a feral smile, not unlike his own. "Bakura," the fox replied, before turning tail and vanishing in the shadows.

It occurred to him before he sat that he did not know his own.

He thought hard. A name wasn't a necessity. The only ones who would need a name for him were the wolves, and whatever name they may have given him did not reach his ears. Did he truly have a name? Was there a time when he had needed a name?

Red eyes.

Red eyes and clouds the color of flowers.

"Yugi."

He turned to see the intruder at the foot of the tree. He opened his mouth to bark, but instead what he said was, "Yami." The stranger, intruder, predator - he was someone he knew. Someone called Yami. Someone who wore armor like a knight.

What was a knight again?

The knight took off his helmet and smiled. "Brother."


	2. (Update)

I wrote the previous chapter from Yugi's perspective - but since he's messed up in the head, it's a little confusing. I figured, judging from one of the reviews I received, I should clear up a few things. And maybe in the future I'll be able to write things better AHAHAHAHA no.

Anyhow.

So, first off when I refer to animals there's really no animals. There's the wolf pack, but that's about it. Yugi refers to himself as a wolf because of how he's grown up, and to Bakura as a fox because he's sly and clever, but they're really both boys. However, in his world, it's predator or prey. It's hard for him to think in human terms (though of course the entire thing is in English, but meh). His knife is his teeth and claws, etc.

His sense of smell and sight were pretty strong, and he's fairly quick on his feet. Again, thanks to his upbringing with the wolves.

The 'other things' are bandits. They're considered fairly dangerous, especially since they wear dead animal skins, which confuses Yugi. It's disturbing, since he doesn't really understand, so the bandits are just this unknown predator in the Outside. However, the bandits never enter the Inside, which makes him wary of leaving the village at night.

Outside and Inside is basically outside the village and inside the village. It's practically a maze, but it's home to all the savage people of humanity. It used to be only criminals tossed in there, but eventually those without a home began braving the village. It used to be guarded, but now it's more a forgotten slum out in the wilderness. It's pretty nasty, though, which explains why the bandits avoid it.

Yugi ended up in there by mistake. I can't give away too much, 'cause I'm thinking of trying to continue the storyline, but Yami has been searching for him for about four years. He's about sixteen at this point. Yami was twelve, and Yugi was five, when Yugi got stuck Inside. This was also around the time he met the wolf pack.

Lucky he didn't get eaten.

Feel free to review anymore questions! This type of narration is fun, but really vague.


	3. Stalking Prey

That was certainly a useless venture, but he supposed it couldn't be helped. Served him right for putting faith in that child. Though at least he'd secured food for the future. Bakura wandered around the remains of the bandits, studying their slashed limbs with a disinterest not usually seen on such a young boy.

He was surprised the child had left so quickly, but maybe the child wasn't used to people having things on them. In the village, nobody had anything. Food was eaten instantly, and people were just bodies to be put down.

The blood was covering everything. At this rate, he would be left with nothing.

Bakura inspected his hands, then reluctantly crouched down, peeling away the furs and pelts. Several of the satchels had weapons, but he had no desire for such things. He wasn't a fighter. Some of the bandits lay on top of each other, forcing him to push them aside.

How annoying.

They didn't even have the decency to be light. With a grunt, he shoved a man forward, watching as his limbs splayed out in an ungainly fashion.

His eyes caught on the satchel, the skin of an apple peeking out. Wiping his hands on the grass, Bakura carefully lifted the flap. There was dried fruit and dried meat. Not terribly plentiful, but it would last. He cut the bag away from it's owner, methodically using one of the blades.

Once he was done, he collected all the weapons and dumped them in the stream. They weren't really hidden, but it would hopefully be a little inconvenient for anyone who came by later.

"Yugi."

Bakura jumped, spinning around. How had the knight…? All that armor, and he hadn't heard him approach. Curious despite himself, he crept forward, keeping to the shadows. Everything was shadow, really, but he was cautious anyway.

Keeping the satchel in a death grip, he watched as the knight removed his helmet, looking up at the child in the tree. The child was not running, or fighting. They seemed to just be staring at each other.

He huffed silently. All that work for nothing. He wasn't going to stick his neck out for the child again.

A nagging thought told him that he needed the child for food.

The satchel was hardly a week's worth of food. Barely one and a half, if he truly rationed it. Bakura watched the scene closely, trying to determine what the child was doing. He had been fighting tooth and nail just minutes ago!

Suddenly the child growled low in his throat, vanishing into the branches.

Bakura sighed. Finally. He backed away slowly, then sped in the opposite direction. There hadn't been a knight at the village in ages, but if they were posting guards again, then it was lucky he'd escaped when he had. He didn't mind being in there; being trapped was another matter.

His bare feet skimmed silently over the grass, landing lightly on leaves and debris. His hair was going to get tangled. Bakura patted his clothes, feeling where he'd tucked his comb.

It was a foolish thing, but useless, really. Jewels and gold meant nothing in the village. They were inedible, and just something more to carry. Still, he kept it. Out of vanity, somewhat, but also out of sentiment. The ivory comb had a handle in the shape of a dragon, with a light blue sapphire set in the eye.

Bakura leapt the stream, landing on the bank with a soft thud. He checked the satchel to make sure nothing had fallen before looking at his surroundings.

Sleeping in a tree really wasn't a bad idea. Bakura considered the trees around him. Some were out of his ability to climb, and others were so easy that they didn't seem to offer much protection. He ran one hand through his hair, thinking.

Well, he supposed he wasn't really stuck out in the woods, but going back in the village was no longer appealing. Especially with the bag of food in his hand. That was just asking to get beaten.

Bakura smiled. It didn't matter in the end. Outside or inside, food or no food, just existing was asking for a beating.

When a yip cut through the rustling of branches above, he looked up to see the child above him, climbing to the bark. The child's eyes gleamed, amethysts amid the darkness of the sky. "Hello," the child said, his syllables clipped and childish, despite the hoarseness of his voice.

"I don't see any food on you," Bakura observed. He hadn't heard any howls, either. Barely a few minutes had passed since they'd split up - was the child losing his nerve?

"Do you need help?"

Those four words, simply said, made Bakura grin. "Of course," he said. "I need food."

"You have food. I meant shelter."

Of course the child knew he had food. Bakura briefly considered chucking a stick at the child, but it seemed a waste of effort. "I consider my debt paid," he said finally. "I'm not going to owe you again."

"Not debt. How do I feed a… corpse?"

"I'm not going to die," Bakura insisted. He was irritated by the child's concern, since pity was reserved for the weak. And while fighting may have not been his forte, he was far from defenseless. "The bandits aren't exactly out in force right now."

"Ban… dits?"

"You know, those people you just killed a few minutes ago."

"The other things?"

"Other things? Is that what you call them?" He seriously wondered about the child's brain sometimes, but growing up in that place couldn't have helped. "They're bandits. Just so you know."

He detected a small, knife's edge smile up there in the branches. So thin it could almost rival his own. "Are you going… to ed-u-cate me?" the child asked. Definitely sly. Almost disturbing, really, how the child was adapting to his attitude.

Bakura shrugged. "No way. Howl when you've got food," he retorted, walking away.

* * *

After encountering the knight, he understood a lot of things.

For one, he actually came from the Outside. That was where the fox had come from as well, he knew, though the fox had never told him. It's just that he had the feel of not knowing only the world of Inside.

He had to stop thinking like that.

The knight called him Yugi, but he didn't want that name. The knight with red eyes. He had called him Yugi and he had called him brother, and he honestly didn't know what either meant. Perhaps they'd known each other.

Then again, he wasn't entirely stupid.

Just because they knew each other didn't mean that they had been on friendly terms. Besides, he had the whole of Outside to himself. It wouldn't be that hard to avoid the knight. He finally stretched, allowing himself to relax a little. The sky was in the stages of dawn, during the time when everything became indistinct and grey.

He lifted his face, smelling the crisp, cold air. Clambering down to the ground, he belatedly realized his knife was gone. He scowled to himself. What was he supposed to do without that?

Granted, there was still plenty to do.

The air smelled of prey. It always did, but it smelled dirty. Wrong. More like Inside prey than Outside prey. He hesitated, wondering whether to search for his knife first. He looked at his hand, opening it and clenching it a few times. No, he wouldn't find it.

In fact, he was lucky he was still alive. He wouldn't have let go of the knife in his sleep. Though he was an extremely light sleeper, others had snuck up and stolen from him before.

Namely, the fox.

He flexed his fingers. His nails were too blunt, and his teeth were too dull. Why couldn't he have been born a wolf? Then he wouldn't keep losing his weapons. Stones could work. So could branches, if heavy enough. Still, he'd rather have another knife.

The other thi - no, bandits, he corrected himself. They might have had some knives. He retraced his steps from the previous night, searching for the bodies. He found lumps of freshly turned soil where they had been, the earthy smell tickling his nose.

He studied the ground. He wasn't fantastic at tracking, since he usually left that to the wolves, but he thought he could see faint impressions in the grass. Lots of them.

Most of them seemed to be from the other - the bandits. Blood covered everything, but he thought there were three other tracks. One was from himself, just barely, and another was do heavy and deepset that he figured it came from the armored knight.

The last was faint, though he was pretty sure it was only a few hours fresh.

He followed it, noting that it was in the direction of the stream. The babbling waters were disturbed; he arrived to find swords and axes clogging the flow. Crouching down, he studied the weapons curiously. Most of them were too heavy for him to use properly.

Already, some of them were rusting. Still, conscious of his vulnerability, he looked for one that would be easy to use. Not the hand axe, too clumsy for him to even consider. Not the broadsword - again, it had the same problem.

A cry of delight escaped him when he spotted the short sword. It was not yet rusting, and was not too large. It was made from ordinary metal, but far better than his knife. Once, he'd broken the blade of a knife. Good stuff was hard to find Inside.

Actually, it was impossible.

It fit in his hands nicely as he picked it up, the handle just the right size. He swung the sword experimentally. It had weight, but still light enough for him to use.

Satisfied, he held it limply in one hand as he inspected the others. Useless, to him.

He smiled.

A howl echoed through the trees, a haunting melody that instantly demanded his attention. It wasn't a hunting howl. It was defensive. Offended. Another pack was encroaching on the territory, but he couldn't have that. Instantly he was up and running, the sword dragging in his hands.

It was heavy. He considered dropping it, but it was certainly easier to fight with something pointy on hand. He settled for running as fast as he could, vowing to find himself a knife.

Shoddy or not, it was at least easier to run with.

A second howl tore through air, followed by growling and snapping. He quickly switched the sword to his weak hand, using his other three limbs to propel himself forward. Skirting the clearing where the sound of fighting burst out from, he peeked through the bushes.

His pack was being savagely torn apart. Not by other wolves - by things of shadows, eyes of a strange redness. They resembled wolves, in some way. Smaller, perhaps.

Their teeth were very real, white points that sank into flesh, but when the wolves attacked, the shadows were just that. Nothing was there.

He shivered. How was he supposed to attack a shadow? One of the dark things suddenly paused, it's red eyes facing him directly. He jerked back, though the dark thing followed, it's teeth flashing at him. He swung his sword, the blade passing harmlessly through and throwing him off balance.

Blood should be coming out. Fear was replaced by irritation. Or something else - annoyance? He learned to fight with flesh and blood, so what called out the dark things now?

He abruptly remembered the smell of old decay, mixed in with moving and life.

The other things. The dark things.

The knight and the fox.

There was a pattern there, but he wasn't quite sure of what it was. Then he remembered what he was supposed to be doing when the dark thing shredded his arm. He yelped, wildly shoving the blade down the dark thing's throat. It didn't cut, not quite, but he felt it nick something somewhere in the dark thing's chest.

He stumbled back, confused. Then another howl, one wild and triumphant, erupted from one of the wolves. He looked over to see something rotten clutched in the wolf's jaws.

It was rotten, but pulsing like a heart. It smelled rotten. It looked rotten. Sort of like the long-dead rabbit he'd chanced upon once. The fur was coming apart; the meat turned a disgusting color, falling off the bones. Except that had been dry, covered in flies.

This was strangely… fresh-looking, despite it's decay.

He swung the sword back into the dark thing, seeking out the heart. Not a heart, but when it stuck on his blade and came whistling out with his swing, the dark thing shivered. The shadows disappeared.

Dark things died quickly after that.

He'd thought to question them but decided not to. In the sunlit clearing, he thought that if they were important, there would be more. Maybe he would wonder then.

Maybe not.

He felt the wolves notice him then. They'd seen him earlier, amidst the battle rage and death. But not fully. He stank of blood. He reeked of power. The pack left the rotten hearts and departed, leaving the bodies of their dead as well. Would the wolves made for good food?

He considered the wolves.

The rotten things, no. The wolves? No matter the animal, meat was meat.

He threw back his head and howled.

* * *

"Welcome back!" came the joyful voice. Anzu skipped out of the kitchen, brushing her flour-covered palms on her apron. "Any luck?"

Same words as always. Usually, Yami would have said no. Over the years, though the ache had never eased, he'd gotten better at hiding it. His desperate search turned up nothing. This time, he smiled sadly. "Yes… actually. I found him."

Anzu's eyes widened. "Really? That's amazing! Where - where was he?" Her excitement dwindled as she noticed his gloom. "What happened? He's not…"

"He's still alive," Yami sighed. He sat on the couch, pulling her down next to him. He wrapped an arm around her. "My love, remember how we met?"

She smiled, a wicked gleam entering her eyes. Flicking back a stray hair, she said, "Yes. I clearly remember the bet you'd placed on the other girl - a hundred cards. I cost you quite a bit, didn't I?" A smile played around her lips as they kissed. "You rescued me after she got angry at her loss and tried to pull a weapon on me."

Eventually she pulled away, her expression concerned. "What does that have to do with your younger brother? If he's alive, what's the problem?"

"He's been in the Vale."

"The…" Her eyes were horrified. "A child! In there for four years? Why haven't you brought him back?"

"I tried," Yami admitted drily. He rubbed the back of his head, feeling the bruise that had formed there. "He's strong. He survived that place, remember, and he's not the Yugi I knew. I was hoping you could come with me and bring him back."

Anzu pursed her lips. "Does he not want to?"

"He doesn't understand," Yami explained. "His instincts, he's like a wild animal. I don't want him to have to be that way anymore."

She kissed him on the forehead. "Alright, alright. Just let me finish baking."

Yami blinked. "You're baking?"

"I do have other skills besides beating people up, Yami," she said fondly. She patted her short brown hair, making sure it was still tied back in it's ponytail. She knew how important Yugi was to Yami. She'd met the child once, long before Yami and her got together.

She understood. With one last pat, she walked back into the kitchen.

* * *

He'd ended up eating what he could before leaving.

The fox did not come. The shadows lengthened deeply, and he decided that if the fox stumbled upon the meat, then that was that and he would no longer wait. He wandered the forest, going deeper than he had before.

Much of it was the same as what he'd already seen.

Moss crawling up the trees, carpeting the roots. Trunks so wide the puzzle pieces of bark were the size of his arm, while others were so thin he could wrap them in his hand. Leaves with serrated edges, smooth shape, rounded tips. Animals scurrying along the ground and branches.

All in all, a forest. He wondered about the dark things again, wondered if they would come from the shadows and night sky. But they'd attacked during the day, so it didn't matter what they were, they wouldn't come from it.

They were just hostile animals.

He thought to practice his words next, but found that without someone to talk to he couldn't remember them. So he chose a sturdy tree, slashing at it with his sword.

It wouldn't break. Neither he nor the tree were strong enough for that. It would dull, but then he could hurt as easily with it anyway.

Clumsy wolf. He wasn't used to such claws, such teeth. He chafed at the slowness, but the sword really was his best option. An axe would be no better. Probably worse.

He'd drop it, cutting off his toes in the process.

With a sigh, he wondered if perhaps the sword would break after all. As he struck blow after blow on the wood, he figured the jagged edge that would be left behind would serve him better. Lighter, quicker - but no, it didn't break, not even when he was breathing hard and sweating, gashes crisscrossing the bark.

The sword slipped out of his hands. He let it fall to the ground, though not before stepping back. Swords cut as well as axes.

He was remembering. There was no Inside and no Outside, because Inside was gone. He wasn't going back. The decision startled him, for a moment, but then he realized it was because the two had defined his life. Only Outside.

He punched the tree. It's ragged wounds softened it slightly, but not much. He punched it once, twice, then kicked. He felt uneasy again, something itching the back of his mind. Dark things, other things, rotten hearts.

Claws, teeth, wolves, foxes, and knights.

A long, long forgotten memory dredged up from the depths of his brain whispered into his consciousness. _Which one of these things is not like the others?_

Words collected on his tongue. But when he opened his mouth, only one came out.

"Knight."


End file.
